


Clarity

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't like he was completely against the idea of Merlin's new glasses. In fact, he was even planning to have a little talk with Merlin about adding some extra features for—recreational purposes. But then Percival's words had been very, <i>very</i> compelling...</p><p>Or, my take on why Lancelot doesn't wear the Kingsman-issue glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clarity

**Author's Note:**

> For [Elaine27](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Elaine27/profile), who asked for a fluffy, established relationship, and more specifically, "Percy's got new glasses (maybe from Merlin even) and both Roxy and James try them on."
> 
> Well, guess who managed to write almost 3k without completely filling the second half of the prompt xD;; (To be fair, I had every intention to, but then Percival and Lancelot just did their own thing.) Maybe one day I'll write a sequel in an attempt to follow the prompt, but for now, belated happy birthday, and I hope you enjoy this :)

**[2000, UK HQ: Percival’s Quarters]**

They’ve never discussed or decided on a specific knock, but Lancelot insists on knocking on his door with a distinct rhythm to announce his presence. Not that Percival needs it, though. Lancelot has visited his HQ quarters enough times for him to know exactly who is currently standing on the other side of his door.

“Come in,” Percival calls out, continuing to flick through the catalogue in his hands. In response, the door opens with a creak and closes with a snick.

“You stayed up again?”

The sofa sinks from the added weight of Lancelot next to him, and with an ease that suggests familiarity and routine, they rearrange themselves until Percival is pressed against Lancelot’s side, safely ensconced in the circle of Lancelot’s arm.

“You weren’t back yet,” Percival murmurs, without a trace of accusation in his voice. Beside him, Lancelot sighs, and the puff of warm air brushes against his cheek. Holding up the catalogue, Percival continues, “Don’t worry; I was doing some research to pass the time while waiting.”

“Research?”

He hands over the catalogue for Lancelot’s perusal. “While you were on your mission, Merlin had a talk with me about one of his inventions.”

“Glasses?” Lancelot raises an eyebrow, and one corner of his mouth quirks upwards in mild amusement. “These glasses wouldn’t happen to make X-ray vision possible, would they?”

Wriggling out of Lancelot’s hold, Percival leans back just far enough to see Lancelot’s eyes dancing with mirth—and to pin him with a mock glare in response. “Now, what use would you have for that, James Spencer?”

“I thought it might make conferences more interesting,” replies Lancelot. His gaze lingers on Percival, and the twinkle in his eyes dim as his countenance shifts into one of solemnity. “Haven’t you ever wondered whether Arthur is a boxers or briefs kind of guy?”

Percival makes a small choking noise, and he breaks eye contact to fall back against Lancelot. “No. Hell, no.” The images evoked by Lancelot’s words contort Percival’s facial expression into one of distaste, and he presses his lips together in a frown. “Is _that_ what you think about when we’re all seated around the table?”

With the twinkle back in his eyes, Lancelot pats Percival’s thigh and laughs. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Chuckling, Percival shakes his head in resignation. He leans forward, reaching for his mug sitting on the coffee table, forgotten over the course of their conversation. The dregs of his cold tea stare back at him. Percival frowns. “I’m may need something stronger than tea for this conversation.”

“At midnight? How very unlike you, Percival.”

“A nightcap, then,” decides Percival. “Will you be joining me?”

“Just tea for me, thanks.”

As Percival putters about in the kitchen, Lancelot removes his suit jacket, stretching his muscles before he makes himself more comfortable on the sofa. By all counts, he should be exhausted—if not from his actual mission, then from the tedious hours spent travelling across three different time zones using four different modes of rather unconventional transport. And yet, there’s something about Percival’s quarters that caused any work-induced exhaustion to fall away as soon as he stepped over the threshold.

Lancelot lets his gaze wander around the room, cataloguing the personal effects Percival has added to turn the designated living space into his home away from home. Unlike several of the Knights’ quarters he’s had the privilege—or misfortune—of visiting during his service with Kingsman, Percival’s quarters aren’t overly furnished. Instead, there’s a bookshelf here, a photo frame or two there, all distributed sparsely, although tastefully. Since the last time he visited, Percival has also acquired another bonsai tree. It sits in the centre of the small dining table, showcasing a well-crafted ceramic pot. He’s always thought that bonsai is a fitting hobby for Percival’s meticulous personality, and if the other plants in the room are any indication, they thrive under Percival’s care and attention to detail.

Sinking further into the sofa, Lancelot lets out a small sigh of satisfaction. The comfort of the sofa definitely does wonders for his exhaustion, he thinks. And then, when Percival presses a steaming mug into his hands, mouth curving into a gentle smile, Lancelot realises the sofa has nothing on his current company.

While waiting for Percival to remove his glasses and put them on the coffee table, Lancelot blows gently at his drink, watching the steam continue on its upward journey regardless of the disruption. Finally, Percival settles back against his side, and they sit together in silence, letting the sounds of their puffs of breath fill the quiet room. Once his tea has reached a tolerable temperature, Lancelot takes a small sip, relishing the feel of it as it slides down his throat, warming him up from within. Feeling sufficiently warm for the time being, Lancelot puts his drink on the coffee table. 

Soon after, Percival speaks up, continuing their earlier conversation. “You’ll be disappointed to learn that the Kingsman suits are impervious to X-ray vision.”

“But not your casual clothing,” Lancelot is quick to point out.

“How unfortunate for you that Merlin hasn’t integrated that particular feature into his blueprints.”

“I might have to schedule a small talk with Merlin, then.”

“I’m sure he’ll be very sympathetic towards your needs,” remarks Percival drily.

“More than you realise.” Grinning, Lancelot leans closer, lowering his voice to whisper in an almost conspiratorial manner. “I happen to know that our Inspector Gadget has his own questions regarding Galahad’s underwear to be answered—if he hasn’t found out already, that is.”

Percival snaps his head around to face Lancelot so quickly their heads almost collide. His beverage splashes dangerously against the walls of his mug.

“Whoa, easy there.”

“Sorry, it’s just— _Merlin and Galahad?_ But they, they’re…” Percival waves his free hand in the air, hoping his gesticulation will compensate for his sudden inability to string a meaningful sentence together. 

Lancelot snorts. “Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed it.”

“Noticed _what?_ ”

“You’re actually serious, aren’t you.”

Percival nods.

“Oh, where do I even start? Whenever one of them is knocked out cold in the infirmary, nothing can pry the other away from the bedside. The last time that happened, I had to bring Galahad’s meals to him because he refused to leave Merlin’s side! Then there was another time when Galahad’s umbrella malfunctioned, and no one saw Merlin for the following three days; turns out he was in R&D with Lucan, angrily devising a way to improve the design to prevent it from happening again. Word has it that that particular instance was the deciding factor for Merlin to finally accept the position of head of R&D after so many years. Apparently he also scared the shit out of the R&D staff at the same time,” finishes Lancelot, chuckling at the memory. “Any of this ringing a bell yet?”

“Well, yes. But they’ve always been like that, haven’t they?”

“Because they’ve always had feelings for each other! That’s not how _just_ friends behave,” Lancelot argues. Percival’s brows furrow as he tries to reconcile the notion. Sighing emphatically, emphatic sigh, Lancelot offers one more example. “At the very least, you have to have seen the way Merlin’s gaze lingers on Galahad during our conferences. Someone needs to teach that man the meaning of subtle.”

“No, I—”

“No? What _do_ you think about when we’re all seated around the table?”

“Nothing,” answers Percival, all too quickly.

Lancelot raises a questioning eyebrow, and Percival looks away, hiding behind his mug and the wisps of steam still rising from it.

“I’ll find out sooner or later,” declares Lancelot, with utmost confidence. “And as for Merlin and Galahad, well, maybe now you’re aware you’ll be able to see it. Goodness knows I can’t unsee it,” he mutters. And with his next breath, he brings their conversation back to where they started. “Speaking of Merlin, we’ve digressed. Tell me about these new glasses of his—if it’s not classified. I haven’t been informed of anything.”

Percival perks up, eager for a conversation where he doesn’t feel so off-kilter. He’s always had trouble expressing and recognising romantic feelings; the time it took for him to recognise Lancelot’s feelings—and the even longer time it took for him to acknowledge his own—is testament to that.

Before he gets right into the explanation, he clarifies, “It’s not classified amongst the Knights, but the design is still under consideration, so no official announcement has been made. As far as I know, he’s only approached the Knights who wear glasses, asking them to choose several designs with feedback regarding their choices.

“The final product, however, is intended for the Knights’ use. It functions primarily as a compact visual and audio communication device between HQ and the Knights, eliminating the need for more traditional, yet obtrusive devices such as mini cameras and earpieces. Merlin says it also has the ability to display information pertaining to the surroundings—concealed weapons, heat sources, et cetera. It’s compatible with the rest of the Kingsman technology, so we’ll be able to access and visualise other information across the Kingsman network as long as we have the glasses on. Or something along those lines.”

Lancelot lets out a low whistle. “Not exactly X-ray vision, but it does sound promising.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” agrees Percival.

“Have you chosen anything so far?” asks Lancelot, gesturing to the catalogue, open and forgotten on the sofa.

“Given that a select few of the knights are rather particular about appearance,” and here Percival pauses, fixing Lancelot with a knowing look that leaves no doubt as to whom he is talking about, and then he continues. “I’ve considered a couple based solely on appearance. No doubt Merlin will make adjustments to the designs later; still, I’d like to try them on so I can make a thorough comparison.”

Fully intending to retrieve his tea from the coffee table, Lancelot disentangles his arm from behind Percival and leans forward. Upon spotting Percival’s glasses, however, he changes his mind, picking up the pair instead.

“What is there to compare?” Turning them over in his hand, Lancelot studies the components that make up the glasses. He runs his fingertips over the thin wire rims, the worn nose pads, the temples bearing a handful of scratches, undoubtedly sustained on a mission, since Percival is rarely so careless with his belongings otherwise. “May I?”

Percival hums his assent, and Lancelot slips the glasses on. Although they had felt light in his hands, he hadn’t expected them to feel equally light when perched on the end of his nose, secured by the temple tips curving around the back of his ears. It feels strange, but not uncomfortable. Nudging the bridge of the glasses further up his nose with his forefinger—mimicking the same motion he’s observed Percival do on many occasions—he peers through the lenses.

Although his eyes are straining slightly, everything before him is clear, albeit smaller. He’d expected the room to be completely out of focus, as had been the case when he’d tried on Merlin’s glasses one evening, a few months after joining Kingsman. It was a dare prompted by Galahad—and unknown to Percival—with the intention of determining whether Merlin had made any additions to his glasses to create an advanced piece of technology. While they hadn’t found out whether any enhancements had been made, Lancelot certainly found out about Merlin’s mean left hook. The effectiveness or strength of the move hadn’t diminished, regardless of Merlin being blind as a bat without his glasses.

Deeming the bathroom mirror too far away to check his appearance, Lancelot turns to Percival instead to ask his opinion. “What do you think?”

“Not bad,” appraises Percival appreciatively, letting his gaze linger on Lancelot for longer than usual. His lips are pursed in preparation to say something when Lancelot speaks up again.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Whether Lancelot is referring to his response or the glasses, Percival doesn’t know, so he just smiles, nods, and watches as Lancelot retrieves his drink and attempts to tackle the task of drinking with the new addition of glasses. It starts off well—until Lancelot makes the mistake of blowing at his tea.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” In one swift move, Lancelot removes the glasses, scowling at the lenses, which are thoroughly fogged up by the steam.

Percival chuckles. “Rookie mistake, James.”

“So that’s why you always take off your glasses.” Lancelot shakes his head at his own lack of observation and foresight. “I don’t suppose there are any designs in that catalogue of yours that prevents this from happening?”

“No.”

“Merlin’s glasses?”

“Hm, most likely not.” 

“Somehow, his new gimmick doesn’t sound so promising after all,” says Lancelot ruefully. He takes a swig of his drink, frowning when he discovers the temperature is tolerable after all. “Count me out if I can’t even have a hot beverage without seeing what I’m drinking.”

“And to think you were so enthusiastic about the prospect of X-ray vision.”

Flashing Percival with a cheeky grin that leaves no doubt as to his meaning, Lancelot cheerfully says, “You did say that I didn’t have a need for them.”

“You’ll never know whether Arthur wears boxers or briefs,” Percival points out.  

“Ah, not if you tell me.”

Percival’s eyes narrow and his nose scrunches up at the thought. “I’d rather not.” A beat passes, and then he asks, “You’re not really against the idea of wearing glasses, are you?”

“The idea does have its merits, but I wouldn’t want it to get between me and my tea.” He laughs, expecting Percival to laugh along with him. Surprisingly, there’s no trace of humour to be seen on Percival’s face when he turns towards him. Resolving to get to the root of the issue, Lancelot sets his mug down and gets straight to the point. No beating around the bush for him. “Why?”

Silence fills the room while Percival collects his thoughts. Lancelot waits patiently, aware that Percival prefers to consider his words before saying them, a far cry from his own tendency to blurt out the first thing that comes to his mind.

It’s taken him months of observation—from afar as acquaintances, and then months of observation from up close once they became friends, and later, lovers—to catalogue the little tells that gives Lancelot a little more insight into Percival’s thoughts. The soft exhale, the pursed lips, the small lines gathering between his brows—they all indicate Percival’s reluctance to explain the heart of the matter.

“You look very… attractive with them on.” Clearing his throat, Percival looks away. His neck and the tips of his ears are flushed slightly, and Lancelot quickly realises it stems from embarrassment. Percival’s next words are spoken so softly that Lancelot has to strain his ears to hear him. “I want you to wear them, but I don’t want others to see you in them.”

Out of all of the things Lancelot was expecting, out of all of the insight he thought he’d gleaned from his close observation of Percival’s body language, nothing had pointed to this. Percival. Possessive. On more than one occasion since they changed the parameters of their relationship, he’s recognised the possessive streak in him, yet never in Percival. And while he doesn’t count himself as particularly insecure, the admission from Percival makes his chest fill with pride and joy. The knowledge is thrilling. Endearing. _Emboldening_. Before he can stop himself, the words tumble out of his mouth.  

“I’ll wear them, but only in front of you.”

As soon as the words are out, Lancelot cringes. It’s cliché—honestly, he’d believed himself more original, more eloquent than that—and it’s a ridiculous promise, too—Merlin and Arthur are going to kill him, but to be fair, he wasn’t too keen on the glasses anyway. However, when Percival’s eyes widen, and anticipation and desire clearly written across his features, Lancelot decides it isn’t as bad as he’d thought.   

All too soon, the expression on Percival’s face changes into one of concern. “What about Merlin’s glasses? If the prototype is successful, they’ll become a requirement for the Knights.”

“I’ll… _negotiate_ with Merlin to prepare an alternative for me.” Oh, Merlin won’t be happy about it, that’s for sure—at least, not until he whips out his trump card. After all, he’s not below using a few choice titbits of information about Galahad to make sure he keeps his promise to Percival. Right now, however, he has something else to take care of. In an attempt to regain the earlier atmosphere, Lancelot puts his arm around Percival’s shoulders, drawing them closer together. “More importantly, have you ever tried kissing someone who wears glasses?”

Keeping his eyes fixed on Lancelot, Percival shakes his head. Anticipation and desire are mirrored in their gazes. The corners of Lancelot’s mouth turn up into a satisfied smile, and with his free hand, he picks up the glasses from his lap and slips them on once more.

“Well, I think you’re about to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who gets frustrated when steam fogs up their glasses, this is for you too. I feel your pain.


End file.
